Quantrill's Raid

Visit the past and 
see justice prevail.

I'd like to introduce you to the  The Past Times series. I liked the idea of the "present" being in the past, so these two books are set in 1878 and 1879. The main character goes back in time from there, facilitating God's justice. Psalm 36: 6 says, "Your righteousness is like the highest mountains, your justice like the great deep."  God uses my character, Justine, to showcase His wonderful attributes. Here's the gist of the series: 

Stand up for what is right, no matter the cost. 1878: Frivolous New York socialite, Justine Braden, receives the gift of time travel on her twentieth birthday--as have past generations of the women of her family. Such a gift presents her with a great purpose, one that is far beyond her imagining: justice. The gift is given, but it can be declined, ignored, or embraced. If she is strong enough, brave enough, and noble enough, the gift will facilitate justice and change many lives for the better. Join Justine on her journey from a fickle girl into a woman of great purpose and potential.

Where Time Will Take Me takes place in New Hampshire where Justine is sent back into Colonial America. Book 2: Where Life Will Lead Me has Justine living in Lawrence, Kansas where she explores frontier life and the Civil War.

I live in Kansas, so was excited to delve into its history. One of the historical events I have Justine visit is Quantrill's Raid in Lawrence during the Civil War. First, you need to understand the animosity between Missouri and Kansas at that time. The people who traveled westward were independent people—an admirable trait. But many came to flee their own crimes, or because their views conflicted with established society. Those who settled in Missouri tended to have Southern roots, were often sympathetic to slavery, and had plantation-type farms. For the most part, those who settled in Kansas had Northern roots and opposed slavery. Sometimes opposing sensibilities were as close as the next farm. And so there was conflict—sometimes horrendous, violent conflict. Hence the term "Bleeding Kansas".

Quantrill’s Raid was the most violent conflict between Missouri Bushwhackers and the Kansas Jayhawkers. William Quantrill was a guerrilla fighter from Missouri whose gang of bandits chased after escaped slaves and terrorized anyone who had Union sympathies. On August 23, 1863 he led a raid from Missouri into Kansas to attack the free-state stronghold of Lawrence. Four hundred men rode into Lawrence before dawn. They were told to shoot any man--or boy, who was big enough to hold a gun. The raiders carried American flags as cover until they got close, then brandished Quantrill’s black flag. They killed nearly 200 men and boys, and burned most of Lawrence to the ground, causing $20-30 million in damages (in today’s money). They rode back to Missouri and didn’t lose a single man. 

Why didn't Lawrence fight back? Their defenses were down. They'd spent years being told they were susceptible to an attack and had armaments ready. But when years passed and nothing happened they let their guard down. Unfortunately, with great consequences.

As we know, the pro-slavery side lost the war. Quantrill and his band of men (which may have included Jesse James) spread out and became outlaws, robbing and murdering innocents. Most died a violent death. 

I hope you dive into Justine's story as she seeks justice!

Thanks for stopping by! I'd love to hear from you. Happy reading!

Civil War in Missouri, the Oliver Anderson House, battlefield hospital

Posted: 11 Feb 2015 10:00 PM PST

 A Footnote from History by Stephanie Grace Whitson

"Maggie didn’t know how long it had been since John had screamed at her to go back to safety in the rear. He’d been astride Blue and he’d kept going, tearing across the battlefield ... She’d watched with a horrible kind of fascination as Blue galloped away, willing both horse and rider to somehow fill only the spaces between the bullets. And then, when Colt dropped out of sight, she’d looked down at the boy she was tending and was jerked back to another terrible reality ... The boy was staring up at her with panic in his eyes, and with everything that was in her, Maggie mustered kindness and an expression that she desperately willed to feign hope ... “Look at me, Private. You aren’t alone. The Good Lord is here and so is Maggie Malone. Neither of us is leaving you.” (Excerpted from Daughter of the Regiment)

In 1853, Kentuckian Oliver Anderson had this beautiful house built overlooking the Missouri River near Lexington, Missouri,in the heart of a rich agricultural center where planters raised hemp, tobacco, and fine cattle. With its 15-foot ceilings and 15-foot-wide central hallway, the house is an example of the kinds of mansions prosperous, slave-holding Southerners were building in Missouri in the 1840s and 1850s. None of the outbuildings survive, but there would have been a carriage house, a horse barn, a summer kitchen, and slave quarters.  

In the fall of 1859, financial woes forced Anderson to auction off all his real estate, his personal property, and his slaves. His sons purchased the house, enabling their parents to live there until the eve of the Civil War.

When the Civil War broke out, Unionists in Missouri quickly gained the upper hand. With the Missouri River strategically vital for the movement of troops and supplies, Federal troops occupied Lexington in July of 1861 and confiscated the Anderson House for use as a hospital. Local tradition says that Anderson refused to take the Union-imposed oath of loyalty. He subsequently left Lexington (Anderson died in Kentucky in 1873). 

In August of 1861, when the Battle of Wilson's Creek near Springfield set the stage for a rebel offensive into the heart of the Missouri River valley, the Anderson house was at the heart of the action. 

The battle map shows the house in green and various military positions in red. The Battle of Lexington was waged over three days in September. Battle damage to the house is still visible today, both on the exterior brick walls and on interior walls.

Battle damage to the house is still visible today, both on the exterior brick walls and on interior walls. 

The house changed hands three times on September 18, 1861, the first day of the Battle of Lexington.  That day, three Southern soldiers died at the base of the grand staircase in the main hall.

Visitors who venture away from the house to walk the battlefield encounter this small burial plot designated for five unknown Union soldiers whose remains were found during excavations in 1932 near the site of the building that was used as Union headquarters during the siege of Lexington. The men were likely part of Colonel Thomas A. Marshall's cavalry. 

The southern victory at the Battle of Lexington made Major General Sterling Price a hero throughout the South. The Union responded en masse and eventually forced Price to retreat back to the southwestern corner of the state, returning Lexington and the Missouri River Valley to Union control.

In 1958, the Anderson house and portions of the battlefield were donated to the Missouri state park system. See interior photos and learn more here: http://mostateparks.com/park/battle-lexington-state-historic-site

Have you visited any state historic sites in recent weeks? Did you enjoy your time there? Learn anything new? Share!

___________________________

The Oliver Anderson house and the Battle of Lexington played an important role in

inspiring Daughter of the Regiment, Stephanie Grace Whitson's March, 2015 release. Stephanie has been a full time novelist since 1994. Her studio is located in the lower level of her 1890s home--"the hired man's house"--in Lincoln, Nebraska. She enjoys learning about the real women who inspire her historical fiction, studying antique quilt history, riding her Honda Magna motorcycle named Kitty, and spending time with her extended family, grandchildren, and grand-dogs. 

Learn more at 

www.stephaniewhitson.com

www.Facebook.com/stephaniegracewhitson.

Pre-order Daughter of the Regiment here:
http://www.amazon.com/Daughter-Regiment-Stephanie-Grace-Whitson/dp/1455529036

Fashion: Action and Reaction

I know I’ve written about historical fashion before, but this morning I woke up with a few new insights.  Again, they are my insights and have no basis on anything beyond my own reasoning. So beware!

Thinking about fashion in the last two hundred years I started seeing an action/reaction phenomenon going on...

After the French Revolution, women got rid of their ridiculous high wigs and huge side-hoops and wore simple flowing dresses that allowed women freedom. Revolution? Freedom? It goes together. Now when they danced, they could actually get close to their partners, sliding past, shoulder to shoulder. And bonus, they didn't have to worry about their wigs and head-dresses toppling over.

As the memories of the Revolution faded, in the 1820's and 30's (see below left) fashion became more constrained again with big sleeves, big skirts, and corseted waists. It's as if the only action possible was over-reaction.

By the 1860’s women were encased in a bell. They were unable to go through doors easily, sit in a chair, and were encouraged by the style to be little more than pretty ornaments.

After the war, and during the industrial explosion of the last half of the 19th century, women seemed to gain freedom again with dresses that were flat in front and on the sides. Yet, the grips of fashion wouldn’t let them go, and they were burdened with large, elaborate bustles, holding them back, prohibiting them from gaining full freedom.  Heavy trains impeded their forward progress.

In the 1890’s women escaped the bustles and all forms of hoops (for good!) Once free to move, they . . . moved.  Women rode bicycles, played golf and tennis, and went to work in offices using a new invention called a typewriter. The idea of women gaining the right to vote stirred them into believing they actually could wield some power. Their sleeves grew enormous as if mimicking the idea of a strong woman, flexing her muscles.


For a few decades women’s fashions seemed almost sane—until the teens of the 20th century, when the hobble skirt became the rage. Tight near the ankle, there was only one way to walk in the dress. Slowly, with small steps. Hmm... Was society spooked by the inroads women were making, so it created fashion to hold women back by “hobbling them”? 


But women wouldn't be hobbled and kicked free of such ridiculous fashion. The flapper era of the 1920’s was a full revolution with corsets banished, hemlines raised from ankle to knee, fabrics softened to flowing sheers, and long hair cut into easy-care bobs. What did women do to celebrate their freedom? They went wild, dancing the Charleston, smoking cigarettes, and drinking cocktails!

Here's a link to original footage from the Roaring Twenties: Charleston Video

As women moved into the workplace, the flimsy flapper dresses gave way to practical clothes that were more tailored and menswear inspired. For the first time in history, women discovered the comfort of wearing pants (what took them so long?  Really.) As our men went to war, women filled in the gaps, working in factories and on the farm.

But after World War II and the Korean War, with our boys back home again, it was as if fashion insisted that women look like women again. Corsets returned—in the form of heavily constructed bras and girdles. Hoops were still out, but in their place came layers of petticoats, once again giving women an ornamental look. And as an alternative, there were tight-tight skirts, which were nothing more than modern hobble skirts.

The style didn’t last long, as the late sixties created fashion spurred by social reform. Those were the anti-years. Anti-war, anti-establishment, anti-any constraint at all. Bras were burned, coiffed hair was set free, and the freedom to choose virtually any style teased women with almost too much freedom.

For in the 1980’s, when women were making huge strides in the business world, the hippie dress code didn’t work in the corporate workplace. And so… fashion once again copied menswear with man-sized shoulder pads and silly bows instead of neckties. Having lived through this style, I cringe.  We looked ridiculous in our "power suits", like men-pretenders.

Women eventually realized they didn’t need to try quite so hard, and fashion evolved into what it is today. Which is? I’m not sure. When I try to think of fashion trends right now it’s hard to pinpoint. Hemlines and the width and length of pant legs vary. Shoes span the range from flip-flops to stilettos. Popular colors come and go. Have we finally reached the point where we can wear what we like and what looks good on us, and not have others make the choices for us?

If so, it’s about time. Actually, it is about time. For over two hundred years women have suffered their social gains with stops and starts, advances and regressions, and their fashion has followed suit.

Pun intended.// Nancy

Carnton Plantation and The Widow of the South

Carrie McGavock of Tennessee stood on her back porch one sunny November Day and watched an army of half-starved, mostly barefoot men march towards a battle that would forever change the landscape around her beloved home.

As part of a recent trip to Nashville, Tennessee, I stood on that same porch and tried to imagine what it was like for Carrie that day and in the days that followed. By four o-clock that afternoon she would have been listening to the horrific sounds of the battle taking place to the north. The battle continued into the night, and by midnight the carpet on the floors of her home would have been visible only when a wounded, dead, or dying, Confederate soldier moved or was moved by care-givers. The wide hallway furnished so elegantly to receive visitors, the family parlor where she sat in the evenings to do needlework ... the formal dining room with the table that could seat over twenty for dinner ... had disappeared beneath a sea of bleeding, stinking, filthy, bodies. Survivors who looked back on that day would remember Carrie's dress changing over the course of the candle-lit night as the sleeves and hem of her dress became more and more stained with the evidence of her nursing.

As I stand in Carrie's house and look up at the portrait above the fireplace, I try to imagine that lovely woman changed by what had happened just a few miles north. The battle would not be remembered in the nation's collective memory as were Shiloh, Antietam, and Gettysburg. And yet the casualties would be greater in a narrow span of time than at any of those other battles. Franklin Tennessee's population in 1864 was only a few hundred. The battle left the earth strewn with over six thousand casualties.

At some point my imagination breaks down. Even as I look at the blood stains still evident on the floors of Carrie McGavock's home, visit the graves of the thousand-plus soldiers buried within view of the house. Horror in Carrie McGavock's life happened at home.

Where does the story that appears on the pages of the best-selling novel The Widow of the South depart from what really happened? One of the members of our tour group asked that very question. The tactful docent said that they were grateful for the visitors who came to Carnton Plantation because of Richard Hicks's historical novel.

Fiction captures imaginations and carries us away to another time and place. In so doing, it can gently teach the past and send us on journeys to learn the truth behind the story. In the case of Carrie McGavock of Carnton Plantation, visitors are introduced to a woman who, one November Day, had history arrive on her literal doorstep and did what she could to mend it.

As I stand on her back porch on a November day nearly 150 years after that event, I wonder what it was like to step out this doorway the morning after the battle, look to my left, and watch as defeated soldiers filed by to pay their respects to the four Generals whose bodies lay just a few feet away. I wonder what it was like to have my children staying in a room off the kitchen because their bedrooms upstairs are operating rooms. Will they ever be able to forget the cries and moans of the patients ... or the thud above their heads as another addition to the "limb pile" lands by the fireplace? Putting my self in Carrie McGavock's place, I know that, as a mother, I'll make certain the carpet is replaced so they don't have to see the blood stains. I'll hope they never have to live through anything like this again. I'll hope they live ... because disease is surely coming in the aftermath of today's nightmare.

Carrie McGavock is better known in 2010 thanks to a novelist. I don't know what she would think of what he said about her, but as a woman I'm grateful that people know her name. Other women in other famous Tennessee places are barely a footnote. More about them in my next post.

--stephanie g.